Monday, December 31, 2012

The Friends of the Merril Collection are running our second annual Speculative Fiction Short Story Contest in order to raise awareness of, and funds for, the Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation and Fantasy through the Friends of the Merril Collection.Seeking innovative, inclusive, original fiction. Prizes include cash ($350 CDN total), chances to pitch a novel to ChiZine Publications, and more. Length: 5,000 words max. Entry fee: $5 per entry. DeadlineFebruary 15, 2013.Guidelines

Newsflash:PrimeBooksis launching a new sci-fi/fantasy digital imprint, Masque Books, in July 2013. Prime's publisher Sean Wallace and senior editor Paula Guran will both work on the line, with former senior science fiction and fantasy reviewer for RT Book Reviews Natalie Luhrs joining the company as acquisitions editor.

The 2013 Canadian Writers' Contest Calendar is available now. Whether you’re a beginner or advanced writer, if you’re looking for places to send your work, you should put contests on your list. The Canadian Writers’ Contest Calendar gives a full listing of contests in Canada arranged by deadline date. It lists contests for short stories, poetry, children’s writing, novels, and non-fiction – contests for just about everyone. The Calendar costs just $20 at one of Brian Henry's workshops or classes or $23.50 by mail (all taxes and shipping included).
To order, email brianhenry@sympatico

This workshop will show you how
writers plot a novel. You’ll
also get the best tips on writing short stories, where to get them published
and how to win contests. Best yet, you’ll see how to apply the story-building
techniques you’ve learned to your own writing.

Workshop leaderBrian Henry has been a book editor and
creative writing teacher for more than 25 years. He teaches at Ryerson
University and has led workshops everywhere from Boston to Buffalo and from
Sarnia to Moncton. But his proudest boast is that he has helped many of his
students get published.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Wordserveis an American literary agency thatused to primarily serve the Christian market but has recently
broadened its area of interest to take on more general clients.

Alice Crider is the newest member of the team. Alice began her career in
book publishing in 1998 at Cook Communications in Colorado Springs. In 2001,
she went to work at Alive Communications Literary Agency for three years before
joining the editorial team at WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House
Publishing.

She studied Communication at Regis University in Colorado and
received life coach training through Christian Coaching Institute in 2008.

Alice joined the literary team at
WordServe Literary in September 2012. Her passion is to empower authors to
realize their publishing dreams and live
a life that thrills them. She represents all genres of fiction and nonfiction,
primarily in the Christian market.

Include the word Query in the subject line. No attachments. Full
submission guidelines here.

Brian Henry will be leading "How to Get Published”workshops on March 16 in Peterborough (details here) and on March 17
in Kingston (detailshere). To
register, email: brianhenry@sympatico.ca

But probably the best single step
you can take toward creating a manuscript that’s ready for publication is to
join one of the “Next Step” or “Intensive” creative writing courses. Starting in January, Brian will
be leading “Next Step” courses in Mississauga (details here) and in
Georgetown (details here), and he’ll be
leading “Intensive” courses in Burlington (details here) and in
Mississauga (details here).

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

I am a self-professed
Grinch.Not the Salvation Army executive
who steals from children Grinch, but the Grinch who hates Christmas.

My dislike of this season has
nothing to do with religion, but more about the commercialization of it. The bright, garish lights, the noise of
endless repeats of the same old Christmas songs, and especially the crowds….

The date is December 23. Presents are wrapped, food is bought, goodies
baked and I'm just about to head out to work for my last day followed by a 5
day weekend. I'm standing in my
bathroom, when I happen to look down and notice there are only a few sheets
left on the toilet paper roll. I open
the linen closet, bend down and..... oh, no.
There's one roll of toilet paper left – in the entire house.

Being the logical thinker that
I am, I quickly do the mental math. 1
roll, 10 days – can I make it? I
mentally assess how many napkins I have in the house and realize that this
really wouldn't go over very well should I get an unexpected drop in
visitor.

I sigh. Looks like an after work visit to the mall.

I also have a frugal streak in
me, so it never actually occurs to me that I could stop by the grocery store
two blocks from my house – even if it costs a dollar or two more. My first and only thought is Wal-mart.

I battle my way through the
parking lot, find a spot that's about a ½ km from the door and the only free
space in the lot. I trek across parking
lot, dodging what I call the Shopping Cart Roadkill. Parents with carts piled high with gifts for
their demanding children can't see and are steering on instinct and let's face
it: if you are hit with one of these overstuffed carts, who do you think will
win: you or the shopping cart?

So, with eyes wide open, I
dodge not only the cars driving at breakneck speed searching for that elusive
spot, but also trying not to become another Shopping Cart Roadkill statistic.

I reach the doors of the
Wal-mart, take a deep breathe and push open the doors. Flashing lights on the Christmas trees that
rival the Griswolds, the blast of music assaults my ears and frantic shoppers
nearing the end of their shopping marathons.
I wind my way through the throng and head to the house wares section to
find that damn package of toilet paper.

I stand at the front of the
isle and fall in behind a woman pushing a cart, holding a very young boy by the
hand. Her shopping cart is virtually
empty and it takes great restraint on my part not to point out that if she
doesn't want her child knocked out by a random elbow or rogue cart, she should
place her child in the cart's basket.

But I hold my tongue and
shuffle forward until I'm standing in front of the toilet paper section. I grab the cheapest store brand package off
the shelf and push my way through the isle to the checkout line and grunt with
frustration.

The lineup extends halfway
across the store. There is just a single
cashier on duty; it appears as if everyone else has left for dinner. The cashier is new, having been hired just
for the Christmas season – which I found out later by the 'trainee' sticker on
her name badge. She appears to be a
teenager who is having trouble working the cash register and counting out
change.

In front of me in line is a
parent with a screaming kid in the basket of the cart who is constantly
reaching out and pointing to the displays saying, “I want.” The parent looks like she has not just run
one marathon, but two.

I balance the package of toilet
paper on my hip and try very hard not to tell the kid to shut up. From behind and I can hear more screaming and
this time it's a parent, on a cell phone who has no idea she has already bumped
me twice on the butt with her shopping cart.

I switch the package of toilet
paper to other hip, close my eyes and try to imagine my zen place – which
happens to be a beach in St. Lucia. But
that doesn't long as I listen to the loudspeaker announce that the cashier of
the open line at the Wal-mart has just run out of loonies.

Slowly, the line shuffles
forward and I'm next in line. I place
the package of t.p on the conveyor belt and again sigh with frustration as an
elderly lady in front of me insists on dumping out the contents of her change
purse on the belt to count out a dollar in pennies and nickels.

Finally, it's my turn. The young cashier rings through my single
purchase and I hand over a $10 bill. I
shove the uncounted change into my pocket, wave off her offer of a plastic bag
and hurry out of the store.

I stop just outside the door to
zip up my coat and check my watch: my one item of necessity cost me an hour of
time. I stomp back across the parking
lot, dodging cars and carts and as I reach the darkest section of the lot, I
notice a car inching along behind me.

As
a single female, my Spidey sense tingles that its creepy, but my logical brain says,
“He wants your space, so he's following you.”

Now that I have my purchase and
I've wasted an hour anyway, I decide to have a little fun. I turn around, scrunch up my forehead and
pretend I don't remember where I parked.
I rub my chin and wander up and down the line of cars until the guy
following me throws up his hands and drives off.

I mentally give him the finger and push the
keyless entry unlock button on my key fob.
The taillights on my car, which I just happen to be standing in front of,
blink in response. I throw the package
of prized toilet paper in my car, fire up my car and peal out of the parking
lot.

That was the year I vowed that
I would never shop anywhere that close to Christmas ever again.

This year, I finished my
shopping two weeks before Christmas, and I have a full package of toilet paper,
paper towels, facial tissues and cat food in my linen closet. But I’ve forgotten something, I’m sure. This
year, though, I’ll spend the extra dollar and buy it at the grocery store. Or figure out a way to make due until January
2 when the world returns to normal.

***

Amanda
Terry works as a full time office manager/bookkeeper and writes to fulfill
the creative side of her brain. Although she has taken a number of Brian Henry's
courses and workshops, she has yet to find her niche. She is still hopeful it
will come to her one day, perhaps in the shower or through a dream. On December
6, Amanda gave a reading of "The Toilet Paper Conundrum" at LaVita Café in Georgetown.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Monday, December 24, 2012

On December 24th 2009,
my husband and I anxiously watched the weather channel, hoping for a safe drive
into Toronto.We dreaded the 45 minute
drive to the city, especially at Christmas.This year the weather was on our side, one less worry.

We gathered
the carefully wrapped presents, climbed into our mini-van and buckled up. Here we go, I thought, a stressful drive to
his sister’s.

We
barely spoke to one another the whole ride there. We were too busy watching the other drivers
on the road.

Finally,
we exited the highway and arrived safe and sound. The kids were bouncing up and down, excited
that Santa was coming tonight!

The
afternoon went by so fast. We watched
the smiles on the faces of our nieces and nephew, so pleased the gifts were a
success. Then my sister-in-law made the
most peculiar comment.

“You’ll
be surprised when you open your gift at Mom and Dad’s,” she said or something
to that affect.

I was
puzzled. I didn’t ask for anything in
particular. In fact, I didn’t ask for
anything at all. Why was she so excited
for me to open a gift that she wouldn’t be there to see? Never has Christmas been about the adults,
it’s always about the kids.

We left
their two story home around 4:30 and drove the 15 minutes to his parents’
house. Through the subdivision to the
Queensway, turn left onto Islington, contend with traffic, yeah.

Every
time we’re back in the city, we’re grateful to have moved away from the
insanity. Living in cramped homes and
driving bumper to bumper each and every single day was not a life we were
willing to live.

We finally
pulled up in front of my husband’s childhood home. We noticed the Christmas lights twinkling
along the eaves troughs of the one and a half story house. My father-in-law no doubt had hung them, his
tradition every year.

“Merry
Christmas!” we all said to each other.

“I
talked to England,” my mother-in-law informed us.

“How’s
the family there?” we asked.

We
continued with our small talk as we made our way inside, gifts and all.

James
and I took off our coats and found our spots, me on the love seat and James on
the chair.

There
were a number of reasons we looked forward to Christmas at his parents, despite
the wonderful cigarette smell that permeates my clothes and the cat hairs that seem
to find their way onto only my pants.

One of
the reasons, aside from being with family, is there’s always a Christmas movie on
the television – usually A White
Christmas or It’s a Wonderful Life,
two movies I had never seen until I became a member of the family.

The
other reason we liked Christmas at his parents’ were the finger foods. The dining room table was always covered with
tiny dishes that made it feel like you really weren’t eating much at all.

This
year was no different. There were
cheeses with various types of crackers, Polish sausage, mini quiche, luncheon
meats, rolls, party mix and more.

What
was different about this year was the conversation. Every year we sit and chat before opening the
gifts. This year however, the small talk
was minuscule. I don’t even remember if
there was any.

“You
have to open one of your gifts now,” my mother-in-law said to me.

She
handed me a perfectly square, worn looking box with the top folded in that ever
so confusing manner. When you finally
learned how to fold the flaps down, it was an accomplishment you had rights to
brag about.

I
looked at the light brown marred box and went through the secret wish list in
my head of what could possibly be hiding in such a box.

All eyes
were on me. My father-in-law sat on the
couch under the bay window to my left.
My husband and mother-in-law were just off to my right, almost in front
of me. They watched in anticipation as I
stared at the box on my lap.

I
carefully opened the flaps and saw crumpled newspaper covering whatever was
hidden below.

As I
lifted the paper, I gasped in surprise!

There
resting on a bed of used newsprint was the most beautiful figurine I had ever
seen.

I
carefully lifted her out and gazed at the exquisite dark green ball gown with
soft pink puffed sleeves. Her light
brown hair was delicately styled high on her head. She gazed softly off to the side, gently
lifting her gown.

When I
turned to look at the bottom of the Royal Doulton, I saw my name: Michelle.

My entire
life I had always wished for one Royal Doulton with my name. A graceful elegant doll wearing a Gone with the Wind type ball gown.

“There’s
a story that goes with getting it here,” Dallas said.

She
began to explain that his sisters-in-laws had searched the internet for Michelle.

So even
my in-laws’ in-laws were involved!

“We
found it in England.”

“England? It came from England?” I replied.
How weird to have found my doll in England, where my mother-in-law’s
family is from.

I
froze. I looked at James, then his mom,
his dad. We all had tears in our eyes. I’d
been thinking only of James’ family. After
all, they’re from England. I never
thought about my grandpa.

“Oh my
gosh, Grandpa. This is from Grandpa,” I whispered and tried not to cry. He’d
found my doll.

Walter
Burt Whitehead was my grandpa. He’d died
fifteen years earlier. So he couldn’t really be the Burt who found my figurine
(nor was it my mother-in-law’s Burt), but still, I had a feeling that this was
Grandpa’s way of reaching down from heaven to say hi.

***

Michelle
Whitehead Boomer lives in Waterdown with her husband and their
two-year-old kitten, Izzy. She returned
to teaching day care after eight years in the health and nutrition industry
where she developed a love of alternative healing and learned everything
happens for a reason. She is currently
editing her first middle grade chapter book and writing short stories for
adults.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

I have attended your workshops and most recently your Creative
Writing course. Just to let you know, I shortlisted in the 2012 Ken Klonsky
Novella Contest, and I was offered a publication contract! The book launch took
place November 20 at Quattro Book's Q Space in Toronto.

Christopher’s novella, Abundance of the Infinite, is available
through Quattro Books here.

See more information about the annual Ken Klonsky novella contest here.

Hi,
Brian.

I wanted to let you know that
my book Flying Fish and Kangaroo: Worldly Ways to Get Your Kid to Eat
Absolutely Anything is available on Amazon as a Kindle edition for just 99 cents See here.

The blurb:

While living in Toronto,
Jennifer Artley Moore, and her two children (ages 8 and 11), set out to eat
every cuisine in the world, feasting on such things as flying fish, kangaroo,
caterpillars, and much more. Through experiences and practical advice, Moore tells
the story of how she taught her children to be worldly eaters while fostering
them to be open-minded.

Sometimes, random encounters and chance
youtube views are so exquisitely providential, one is simply forced to share
with the world your good fortune.

I happened
upon a video that tickled my funny bone last night. It was a 13 second clip of
an actor performing as Hercules. He had clearly misinterpreted the script and
proceeded to act out the stage directions. Watch it twice and then come right
back…

Now, with
this clip in mind, I will tell you about the horror of a day I just had.I had four appointments. All were
strategically scheduled....there was no chance involved. Why, you might ask,
would anyone subject themselves to such a horror of a day? You've heard me say
this a million times, go big or go home! Words to live by. So without further
ado, let the games begin:

Appointment
#1: Aqua Bootcamp. I walking into the pool
area this morning expecting my usual take it easy Wednesday workout. There,
standing on the platform in front of the pool, was none other than a young
female whippersnapper, all decked out in Lululemon gear. After fifteen minutes
of warm ups, she proceeded to inflict such torturous restrictions on my
buttocks, I thought it would remain in a permanent spasm. "No Pain No
Gain!" she yelled at me, over and over again.

Honestly does anybody in the world
actually believe that? If I ever meet the idiot who coined that phrase, I'm
going to stick my fingers in their eyes. Repeatedly! Whilst in the middle of an
extended squat, Hercules suddenly popped into my head. I grit my teeth and
whispered "DISAPPOINTED!!!"

The result
was a fit of giggles that nearly caused me to test out the blue dye theory in
the pool.

Appointment
#2: Eyebrow waxing. If I don't deal
with my eyebrows, my whole eye lid would be an eyebrow. Brooke Shields is no
match for the hairy gong show that frames my face. I avoid waxing like the
plague. It is so painful, I actually nearly cry every time I have them
done....and I've been having them done for years. Today, I had an older
vietnamese lady taking hot wax to me. Each time she would rip back the wax, she
would say, "bootiful."

The first
time she said it, I giggled. The second time I fought the urge to reply,
"DISAPPOINTED!!"

By the third
strip, I was giggling so much, she actually said in a stern voice, "You
stop dat. I gon make big mess and take off whole eyebrow."

This was the
first time in my life I actually focused with an acute intensity on the
physical pain being inflicted on me by an elderly woman from the far east. I
only just managed to contain the laughing fit that erupted as she left
the room.

Appointment
#3: Yearly Physical. Okay, I am aware that
there are men reading this little blog who have no notion of the horrors
awaiting a women in a doctor’s office. So, in the interest of propriety, I will
expound with as much censure as I, Natalie Little, am able. (Brace yourself)

Firstly, the
breast exam. Having a complete stranger fondling your breasts is never
pleasant, but when that stranger takes it upon themselves to examine with such
intensity as to rule out any unwanted lumps on your SPINE, the fondling is
breath holding uncomfortable.

Secondly,
the gynaecological exam. If I was ever so fortunate as to be a speaker at a
medical school, I would have one very important piece of advice. Most women in
the world do not like to be told to relax in a tense situation. When another
human being is inserting a device that resemble a duck's bill and comes fitted
with a crank into that woman's most intimate place, telling her to relax is the
height of stupidity!

It was in
the midst of that exact situation, listening to the crank, crank, crank of the
duckbill...feeling like I was about to be split in two like a wishbone,
Hercules again made his appearance. "DISAPPOINTED!" Well, let me tell
you, the fit of giggles that threatened to turn the pool blue, now produced a
less desirable result. When a female laughs, all kinds of muscles contract. ALL
KINDS OF MUSCLES.

"Relax"
said the doctor. "You need to relax," she said again as Hercules kept
saying over and over in my mind, "this isn't my world..." Out shot
the ducks bill. DISAPPOINTED!!"Oh I'm so sorry!" I
exclaimed, now collapsing into loud out-of-control laughter.

The doctor
gave me a thin smile that said, "Pull it together! I have more important
things to do than fiddle with your lady bits." I finally got myself under
control by humming the Star Spangle Banner. Works every time. The rest of the
appointment went off without a hitch, but once I was safely in my car on the
way home, I let out a loud hysterical

"DISAPPOINTED!!!"

Appointment # 4: Eye exams for myself and my two
children. Two children in a doctors office is nightmare on a good day. Today,
my children were like 2 little bulls in a china shop. No amount of threatening
or pleading did anything to get them to sit on a spot and pretend to be the
civilized children I am not raising. (I truly think civilized is overrated
...but does indeed come in handy when one is trying to make an impression).

What made this situation more hysterical, was
the fact that, on arrival, I had been given those pupil dilation drops used to
rule out Glaucoma . So not only did I look like a basket case running around
after my misbehaved children, I was doing so feeling like this...

After I left that horrid appointment an
hour and a half later, I simply got into the car with a couple of pizza
slices; drove home; plonked the kids down in front of the TV with said
pizza ... and crawled into bed for a 20 minutes reprieve. I lay there in
fetal position reflecting on my nightmare day. An overwhelming feeling of
gratitude washed over me once I realized that I had spent a good portion of my
day in fits of laughter ... all thanks to an actor, who couldn't read a script
properly.

Next year,
on my annually scheduled day of torture, I hope to have had such a providential
encounter on the internet the night before all my pain and sufferings. Tonight
as I climb into bed, my ass throbbing; good bits tender and eyebrows red and
inflamed, I'm going to yawn and say with as much intensity as I can
muster ..."DISAPPOINTED!!

Natalie Littleis a 30-something wife, mommy,
daughter, sister, and friend. Born in Zimbabwe and raised in south Africa,
Natalie is a British national and Canadian citizen. (Top that!) Check out her
blog, Little Bombastic,here.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Young
writers from across Canada, in grades 4 to 12, are invited to submit their
stories and/or poems (fiction or non-fiction) to theBook Week 2013 Writing Contest for Kids & Teens.Judging is
done by noted writers from across Canada and one winner from each grade will
receive a$250 gift certificate for the bookstore of his or
her choice. Two honourable mentions from each grade category will also
receive $50 gift certificates.

Entries
of literary nonfiction are invited for theCBC Creative Nonfiction Competition. First
prize: $6000, publication in enRoute magazine, two-week residency at The Banff
Centre’s Leighton Artists’ Colony. The 4 runners-up will each receive $1,000,
courtesy of the Canada Council for the Arts, and their stories will be
published on the Canada Writes website.

The 2013 Canadian Writers' Contest
Calendar is
available now. Whether
you’re a beginner or advanced writer, if you’re looking for places to send your
work, you should put contests on your list. The Canadian Writers’
Contest Calendargives a full listing of contests in
Canada arranged by deadline date. It lists contests for short stories, poetry,
children’s writing, novels, and non-fiction – contests for just about
everyone. The Calendar costs
just $20 at one of Brian Henry's workshops or classes or $23.50 by mail (all
taxes and shipping included).

Brian Henry has been a book editor, writer, and creative writing instructor for more than 25 years. He teaches creative writing at Ryerson University. He also leads weekly creative writing courses in Burlington, Mississauga, Oakville and Georgetown and conducts Saturday workshops throughout Ontario. His proudest boast is that he has helped many of his students get published.